


second time around

by crooked



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling, Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-03
Updated: 2010-09-03
Packaged: 2017-10-11 10:49:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/111600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crooked/pseuds/crooked
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a bar in the French Quarter, Dean unexpectedly meets up with an old "friend" from London.</p>
            </blockquote>





	second time around

**Author's Note:**

  * For [quidditchkiss](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=quidditchkiss).



> [original post](http://crooked.livejournal.com/233600.html) @ livejournal. sequel to [quick and dirty (just the way dean likes it)](http://archiveofourown.org/works/111601).

"You've gotta be fucking kidding me," Dean mutters, mostly to himself. He can't believe what — or, more accurately, _who_ — he's seeing. Of all places and times, he thinks, unable to stop a grin from curving his lips at the memory of the last time they'd met.

King's Cross, photo booth. The picture is still stashed in a very dark, dark corner of the Impala's trunk, inside that lockbox that Sam always tries to get into but never manages to crack. They hadn't even been able to _find_ the stupid Shrieking Shack they'd been looking for because Dean had been too distracted to even bother. Sam pouted like a dumb ass gigantic kid the entire flight home.

Serious. That's his name. Though, no, it can't be. Whatever. He has no idea what the guy is even doing in New Orleans, but Dean takes it as a sign that he is destined to get laid tonight.

He doesn't make his move right away. Dean watches him, strolling into The Famous Door like he fucking owns the place. He looks at once out of place and completely in his element, and it irritates Dean. It also maybe intrigues him a little, and possibly turns him on. A lot.

Serious — or maybe it's Sirius, like the satellite radio shit — saunters over to the bar, where three chicks with beads draped all over their tits offer to buy him a drink. Dean watches as he accepts with a grin that could drop panties — or boxers, as it were — and leans against the bar, happy to indulge the girls for a few moments as they fawn over him, drunk and horny as hell. It's not like Dean isn't fielding his fair share of offers, but his attention is elsewhere - specifically on the way the blonde is twirling her fingers through the same black hair he'd grabbed onto back in the train station.

Just when Dean's impatience is about to get the best of him, he sees Sirius (Serious?) break away from the girls and head right toward him. It's like a scene from a goddamn movie, he thinks, as the not-as-shitty-as-he-thought-they'd-be cover band starts the opening chords of _Highway to Hell_. Dean has to be imagining this shit, the way Serious (Sirius?) fucking struts as though the music is coming from him, his hips actually swaying in beat to Phil Rudd's drumming. His fingers grip tighter around his glass of whiskey as Sirius (it _has_ to be Sirius) tips his head back, lips wrapping around the mouth of his beer bottle.

But just as sure as Dean knows Sirius must realize he's there, the guy cuts left and disappears into the crowd gathered around the stage. Dean pushes off the wall he's been leaning against and goes into the crowd in pursuit of him.

"Fuck," he mumbles, seeing nothing but drunken frat boys and future stars of Girls Gone Wild. He couldn't have got that far, he thinks, but apparently he got far enough because Dean can't find him by the time the song's over. He gives up when the band, apparently in their AC/DC set, starts up with _Back in Black_. Dean downs his drink and heads to the back in search of the bathroom. His prospects for the night are considerably dimmed now, and it doesn't sound like the worst idea to just join Sammy back at the hotel to catch some shuteye.

He steps into the dingy, dimly-lit bathroom, the walls covered with graffiti and plastered with layers of posters, and stands in front of one of the urinals. He does what he has to do, moves over to the sink to wash his hands (badasses are allowed to be sanitary, you know), and the door to one of the stalls opens.

"Took you fucking long enough to find me," Sirius says, and the low timber to his voice makes Dean shiver. He's heard girls talk about how sexy English accents are, and Dean has never put much stock into it.

Until now.

Sirius pulls out that stick from the last time, which Dean is now sure is some sort of hoodoo-juiced twig, and he flicks it at the door. Dean hears the tumblers of the lock click into place as he advances on him.

"That's some magic stick you've got there," he says, and he feels like an idiot the moment it leaves his lips.

"You have no idea," Sirius says, a smirk spreading across his face. Yeah, Dean set himself up for that one.

He's readying a great comeback when Sirius suddenly grabs his wrist and hauls him into the stall, shoving him into the cramped space. He's on Dean from the moment the door flaps shut behind them, lips slotting against his own, hands going under his shirt and into his hair. Dean crashes back against the side of the stall, his hands reaching out to steady himself on the toilet paper dispenser, Sirius relentless even as his own knee knocks into the porcelain bowl.

The plans Dean had been formulating to be the one in charge of things this time around fly right out the window. He lets Sirius kiss him — aggressive, biting at his lips, a hand curled around the back of his neck — until he nearly suffocates, and then he lets him kiss him just a little bit more. Dean finally pushes him back (but not too far), laughing, feeling dizzy from the whiskey and the humid New Orleans heat and Sirius.

"Problem?" Sirius asks, flashing white teeth. He's so close in the narrow stall, breath ghosting hot over Dean's lips, that Dean can't really remember why he stopped him in the first place.

"No," he says, shaking his head, pushing Sirius back against the opposite wall. "Just taking the wheel."

Dean manages to crouch down, looking up as he reaches for Sirius' belt, and begins to unfasten his jeans. He wants to see him come undone, even if just a little, because the two times they've run into each other like this, Sirius has been remarkably cool about it all. But he just leans back, presses his shoulder blades to the wall, and grins down at Dean.

Dean tugs Sirius' jeans down just past his hips and reaches into his underwear, pausing at the teasing requests of _be gentle, please_ because nothing about this guy screams 'delicate'. He looks up with a grin of his own, pulls Sirius' dick out, and curls his tongue around him with a soft moan. The subtle shiver he gives isn't lost on Dean, and it fills him with a sense of triumph. Sirius had the upper hand in London, and he had the upper hand when he stepped out of the bathroom stall; Dean is determined to take this round.

"Fuck, that's not bad," says Sirius, and his nonchalance pisses Dean off. He strokes him with his tongue, a small frown appearing between his eyebrows because, fuck, his knees would be giving out if their roles were reversed. But Sirius just leans there against the wall of the stall, running his fingers through Dean's hair, cool and collected as ever.

Dean ramps up his efforts, hands gripping at Sirius' hips and pinning him to the wall, sucking so goddamn hard his cheeks hollow. He isn't concerned with a tender experience that will last; Dean wants to make this cocky son of a bitch come, hard and fast.

Sirius' sudden broken whimper tells him his efforts are paying off. Dean doesn't relent, sliding his lips and tongue over him, fingers pressing bruises into the pale skin of his hips. Sirius reaches up and curls one hand over the edge of the stall's wall, hissing out a low _oh fuck_ as Dean notices his knees shake the slightest bit. Sirius reaches across with his other hand, palm pressed flat against the graffiti-covered surface, holding himself up as his breathing gets shallower.

Dean vaguely hears someone shouting, pounding on the locked bathroom door, but that gets pushed aside by the fact that Sirius is coming, a strangled grunt rumbling from his throat as he hunches forward. He pulls back and stands, just taking a moment to stare at Sirius. No one should look so good standing in a filthy bar bathroom with his dick hanging out of his jeans. But he does, even as Sirius stands there with his head hanging down, struggling to catch his breath and regain his composure.

It takes a hell of a lot of self-restraint — an amount he never even knew he had, honestly — for Dean to ignore the hard cock in his jeans, but he has to because he remembers the way Sirius just disappeared into thin air on him. He's not about to let that happen again.

"Hate to run so soon, but I've got work to do," Dean says, leaning into Sirius, lips brushing against his ear. He sees Sirius grin through the veil of black hair hanging around his face, and he's tempted to drag him into the back of the Impala for another go. But he resists and leaves before Sirius can utter a single word to keep him there, pushing the stall door open and unlocking the bathroom door for the angry frat boy who is about to piss himself. Dean ignores the string of curses that follow him as he heads toward the bar's exit, a smirk on his face that probably won't go away until sometime tomorrow.

He walks through the door for which Famous Door is named, covered in autographs from musicians and celebrities that have passed through it, and out onto Bourbon Street. It only takes a few minutes for Dean to reach the next block and the hotel he and Sammy are staying in. It's a Holiday Inn, masquerading to be something different with a fancy French name, but there's free parking for the Impala, and that suits Dean just fine. Plus, the room service and the lack of an hourly rate offer at the front desk is a nice change of pace.

Dean slips his keycard into the door, and he walks in to find Sam sitting up in his bed, laptop open and perched on his knees.

"Done whoring around for the night?" Sam asks, raising an eyebrow at Dean.

He rolls his eyes and flips Sam the middle finger, heading into the bathroom. "Jealousy isn't pretty on you, princess," Dean says, shutting the door and locking it. He's still got an erection that could take someone's fucking eye out, so Dean quickly undresses and steps into the shower.

Dean leans back against the cool shower wall, his hand curling around his dick, and he closes his eyes and sees Sirius. He knows if he had any sense at all, he'd wondered who the fuck the guy was and how, exactly, did they manage to run into each other twice like that? Better yet, he'd wondered why he was so willing to do this shit with him.

Lucky for him, he thinks as he jerks off to the image of Sirius pressed back against the wall, Dean has never really been known for his common sense.


End file.
